


Double Date

by birdbrunch



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Confrontation, F/F, Kinda fixit, M/M, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Post-Fall (Hannibal), and stupid, cuz im inconsistent, different POVs, hannibal being whipped, idk man i think abt this a lot, uhhh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:00:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26498278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/birdbrunch/pseuds/birdbrunch
Summary: Three years after the fall, Hannibal and Will find themselves face to face with Margot and Alana after Hannibal attempts to kill them, against Will's wishes.
Relationships: Alana Bloom/Margot Verger, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 3
Kudos: 93





	Double Date

New York wasn’t ideal for a myriad of reasons. Too busy, too loud, too big. Hannibal never considered himself an avid fan of the countryside; he yearned for culture and personality all too absent from the endless acres of farmland and wild cattle. New York City, though, was insidious. It wasn’t until only recently that the lithuanian man found his lip curling at it’s name; only recently did he see a photo of the Big Apple that made him seriously consider winding country roads leading him nowhere, so long as it was further away from it. It wasn’t until he learned who resided in a most secretive penthouse apartment that he wanted to take an ice pick to Lady Liberty’s head. 

Almost 3 years have passed since they slayed the Dragon. Though, “passed” was an understatement. Hannibal would more appropriately title it a “blur,” mainly for his lack of consciousness during the beginning of it. He faintly recalls water, then being ripped out of it. Then there were hands; a pair of them. Then only one. After that, it was chafing sheets and a lumpy mattress. He was lucid only to eat and relieve himself. It carried on like that for a few weeks, a few months. Hannibal wasn’t even sure he was alive half the time. The only component that kept him swallowing the same inoffensive broth and taking left-favoring steps forward was that voice.  _ Will’s  _ voice. 

Hannibal knew. He knew what Will staying and nursing him back to health meant. He didn’t need loving touches and open confessions. His lingering scent was more than enough. They refused to bring it up, though. The pair didn’t bring up many things, mainly that night, and by proxy, what surviving that night meant. Will simply continued his ironic role as his doctor, and speaking to him in a low, hopeful voice. 

The day they were alive again could have been marked on a calendar, it was so definitively immediate. The cabin they were squatting in, thanks to Chiyoh’s resourcefulness, was stuffed with the presence of its owner, arriving early from his trip. Hannibal was well enough to be cooking again, but certainly not well enough for another unwelcome guest. The moment their eyes met when the burly, middle aged man swung the door open was instantly terrifying, but not for Hannibal. He raised his rifle, holding it to him as defensively as possible, not necessarily  _ at  _ Hannibal, but because of him. Hannibal opened his mouth to quip, finding absurdity in the situation. Hannibal Lecter was either going to die, squatting in some rich hunter's cabin, or be turned in by him. Before he could even inhale, there was a loud, sickening crunch. 

The hunter fell flat and hard. He had to have been dead before face met floor. Regarding his quick work was Will, who held his groceries from the mom n’ pop up the road in one hand, and a large wrench in the other, no doubt from the garage where he was fixing the boat motor. 

“Impeccable timing, Will. Should I tell you he was apt to shoot?” Hannibal asked, bordering on sincerity and playfulness. 

“No.” The reply was curt enough for Hannibal to take an almost undetectable breath. 

Will nonchalantly stepped over the corpse and rounded the corner to set the bag on the counter, but still gripped the wrench fiercely. Neither of them spoke, Hannibal’s eyes staring at white knuckles and rusty metal coated in sticky red.  _ Beautiful _ .

“Promise me something, Hannibal,” Will finally said. Hannibal stared up at him, tilting his head slightly. “Promise me the next time this happens, we have a conversation first.” Hannibal stopped himself from gaping at that.  _ Next time.  _ There would be another kill, and all it cost was an exchanging of words, and perhaps a compromise? An overwhelming fondness the older man felt for the man in front of him washed over him. Words escaped its intensity. 

“As you wish,” Hannibal replied. 

  
  


And yet…

Hannibal loved Will. He truly did. He knew Will loved him too; why else would he have stuck around? And for so long? Maybe Hannibal was being guided by hubris. He would settle for that, he decided, as he told Will that he was going a few states over to retrieve some funds he intended to put towards their escape to Cuba. Hannibal told himself that as he instead retrieved the information for a secret location from an informant. Hannibal told himself that as he actively betrayed Will’s trust and avoided that “conversation” which was necessary for him to attempt this feat. 

Hannibal told himself that as he watched Alana and Margot Verger prepare dinner in their impressive NYC apartment. 

Before he promised Will, he made one with Alana. This one was a long time coming. It was personal, and Hannibal despised it. The confidence in the way he once spoke to her about the sentiment was controlling him, as his ego often did. However, this was more complicated. Hannibal knew Alana was intelligent, but he gravely miscalculated. Pride and experience can only get you so far, after all. Alana had pride, experience, funds  _ and  _ the primal drive to protect her family. Hannibal ran on slick and oily hostility, and nostalgia, and as much as he hated to admit, jealousy. 

It was Bedelia who said Hannibal will be caught as a consequence for that pride. 

_ Whimsy.  _

Hannibal disposed of a doorman and desk clerk. That was barely a struggle. But what he didn’t take into account was the extensive amount of guards the two women hired. Hannibal cursed his affection for Will for a moment. If he could have just watched the women more closely, had taken the time to understand just how long Alana would believe the theory Freddie Lounds unsurprisingly strewed along about their survival, perhaps Hannibal would’ve been more prepared. 

The man at the end of the hall interrupted his millisecond backpedalling by barrelling towards him. Hannibal registered and lunged away swiftly, raising his leg to kick the guard back down the stairs he’d just climbed. The guard was aware of the reel, and grabbed it, twisting until Hannibal lost balance and slammed against the hardwood. Hannibal was unbothered, and took out his harpy knife, sending it into his assailants ankle. 

“Fuck! Bastard!” He cried, unable to stop himself from stumbling back and en route to the bottom of the stairs, where he lay in a crumpled heap. Hannibal heaved himself up, unconsciously touching his bullet wound scar. The noise would undoubtedly stir whatever security still lurked the building, and Hannibal contemplated his options as he headed towards the stairs. 

Before he could get to the fourth floor stairwell, he was grabbed by the arm. Hannibal found himself shoved to the side and thrown viciously into the closest elevator. His reflexes charged, and he raised his arm before he realized who interrupted his plan. 

Will stood in front of him, fists balled. He blocked the elevator door, and didn’t look away as he slammed the basement button. Hannibal realized his heartbeat only just began to quicken, feeling like an alcoholic husband caught with the bottle by an exhausted wife. The unreality of the situation being compared to something so mundane made Hannibal’s lip twitch humorously. 

“This isn’t funny, Hannibal. You betrayed my trust. Again.”

“You don’t seem very surprised by that,” Hannibal dared. “In fact, your confidence in knowing exactly where I went is quite telling.”

The soft mechanical bustling of the elevator was deafening. Will looked away, frowning. Hannibal was right; this wasn’t as simple as a broken promise. Will knew exactly where to find him. He could have stopped him, could have forced him to give up the plan he had meticulously constructed to kill his former jailer, and Will’s former friend. Will knew exactly what he was doing, he just didn’t try to prevent it. He wasn’t even sure that’s what he fully intended on doing right now. 

_ That’s  _ participation. Bedelia again. 

Will’s eyes stared holes into Hannibal’s head. He didn’t deny the implication, but that wasn’t what he was upset about. Hannibal didn’t look smug anymore, and Will gathered he knew where Will’s disappointment lay. The same thing happened when Hannibal initially framed him for the Chesapeake Ripper’s crimes. It wasn’t the body count, the cannibalism, none of his crimes that drove Will to make an attempt on Hannibal's life. It was his crushing deception. 

They both stewed in thick discomfort until the elevator dinged, and the door swung open. 

ZAP.

Both men were instantly tazed once, twice, until consciousness left them. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


When Hannibal and Will awoke, they were seated at a dining table. It wasn’t as grand as Mason Verger’s was, but it wasn’t as pathetic as whatever house or apartment they’d been occupying previously either. Will’s body ached from the shock of being tazed. Hannibal drowsily met Will’s heavy eyelids, taking each other in. 

“Are we all awake now?” Asked a tired, raven haired woman.

“Looks like,” confirmed her taller, fairer haired spouse. 

Margot Verger began pouring a tall bottle of red wine into both of their glasses. Hannibal only then considered the food and the smells around him. He blinked the remaining sleepiness away and stared up at Alana. 

“A rather comfortable house you’ve made for yourself, Alana. At least this one is,” he poked, turning his gaze towards Margot now, “I couldn’t imagine you’d call any of them a home.” Margot beamed a sickly sweet smile, and set the corkscrew down forcefully. “Good to know that your veneer of control hasn’t wavered, Dr. Lecter,” she replied. All of this was feeling dangerously similar to the telltale “Massacre at Muskrat Farm.” Will finally raised his head, peering at Alana. He was surprised to see her so drained and defeated. Her eyes were glassy and her spirits, despite how close she was to never again living with the threat of Hannibal Lecter, were considerably low. It was only then that he realized she was looking at only him in that way. She was overflowing with regret. Will winced.

“I didn’t want it to be true. But here we are, once again.” Alana’s voice was even and cool. 

“Fate is in favor of comedy. The redundancy of our circumstances is astounding,” Hannibal mused. 

“That wasn’t for you, Hannibal. I’m talking to Will.”

Hannibal looked at Will. Will didn’t look back. 

“You were hoping I was dead?”  
“I was hoping you weren’t with him. But if that meant you had to die, then I guess I was.” Alana’s authority was striking. More so than Jack Crawford ever was, and maybe even

more than Hannibal. Will instinctively moved to flex his hands uncomfortably, and then realized he was restrained with cuffs. Margot touched Alana’s hand, and for a moment, the women were locked in a sad gaze. Margot finally rose from her seat again to start towards the kitchen, presumably to bring out the main dish. 

Then there were three.

“Are the FBI en route, or will you finish us off like you did Mason Verger?” Hannibal asked. He didn’t have to ask. He just wanted to make it known in the conversation. He wanted them to know that this fact was not void of his influence or agency. Will and Alana shared equal looks of irritation. 

“It’s almost funny, you know,” Alana chuckled harshly, ignoring Hannibal. “I watched the video. Dolarhyde’s film caught the entire fight.” Hannibal and Will tensed, aware of the topic, and aware of how lightly they tread around it. Alana took note. 

“You couldn’t hear us,” Will blurted. Alana shot him a look and continued, suddenly red hot at his defensive tone. “I didn’t have to. In fact, the video served as blatant confirmation for what I already knew. And for what I stupidly ignored.” Will swallowed. Hannibal’s expression regained it’s familiar smugness, but he didn’t speak. 

“I wanted to believe you weren’t that easy, Will. You’d built a whole life for yourself, away from all of this. Your wife and son still mourn you,” Alana whispered. 

“I never should have gotten involved with them. Molly and Walter were substitutes. I don’t deserve the warmth they created,” Will replied. 

“But you needed that stability, Will. You  _ needed  _ it.” 

_ But he didn’t want it.  _ It was written all over the two men’s faces. Alana ran a hand through her black hair, now lightly cascaded with strands of grey. 

“Can you just…” she faltered, only for a second, staring up at the ceiling, trying to maintain her composure. “Can you tell me why you chose him?” 

Hannibal expected Will to offer his infamous thousand yard stare, and treat the question as rhetorical. He stiffened when Will’s eyes became almost as glossy as Alana’s. They didn’t soften, they just brimmed with the threat of tears. Two broken people, finally being honest with each other. 

“Because I love him, Alana.” 

Will’s voice was barely above a whisper. Shame. Hannibal recognized raw, piercing  _ shame _ . The reality of how avoidant the pair became since they killed Francis Dolarhyde finally surfaced. Hannibal was  _ hurt.  _ Will was  _ hurt.  _ They hurt one another. But they were simultaneously  _ insanely _ in love. And though that was true, they were aware of how much shame came with those coexisting facts. They gave up their respective normalcy for each other’s company, and the gravity of how impactful that is  _ demands _ shame. That fact just hadn’t occurred to them in a while. Hannibal looked apologetically to Will, who finally returned his gaze. 

Alana felt a pang of sympathy for not only Will, but for Hannibal. She briefly let herself imagine a world where Hannibal wasn’t a homicidal cannibalistic psychopath (and Will, for that matter). Maybe they all could have been happy. Margot conveniently returned to the somber scene with a turkey, basted and golden, on a bed of vegetables. With the image of her wife cooking for the four of them, Alana could almost lose herself in that mundane fantasy. 

It ended shortly. Like many things did. 

Margot took out a silvery handgun. She pointed in at Will’s temple, and he flinched slightly. Alana didn’t even realize she was crying until she followed her shaking hand to her face. 

“You could have stopped him. You didn’t. We can’t even be with our child for more than a few days without having to relocate from sheer paranoia. We’re barely living and it’s all because of  _ him  _ and you did  _ nothing.”  _ Margot’s sobs didn’t break the aura of confidence and aggression. Alana began to reach out and calm her wife when she caught Hannibal’s expression.

Alana’s jaw fell slack when she realized fear flashed behind deep, dangerous amber. She’d never seen more than microexpressions from the older man, so this was certainly alien. Uncanny. That pang returned, more like a gentle drumming now, realizing that fear was directed towards Will. Something was different this time around; in a good way.

“He’s not going to do anything to you or your family. We’re going to have a conversation,” Will looked knowingly to Hannibal, who leaned back at his acknowledgement, “and you’ll never see us again.” Margot bit her lip, uncertainty and trepidation wracking her every move. She knew she still couldn’t trust them, and it hurt her. Nonetheless, she lowered her firearm and let herself sob into her hands. Hannibal, to anyone else, would be sitting neutral at this development. But Will knew the miniscule details of reaction in his rigid feature.  _ My compassion for you is inconvenient, Will.  _

Nobody spoke for a few moments, save for Margot’s soft sniffling. Then, Hannibal cleared his throat, leaned towards his fork, and uncoordinatedly slammed it into the turkey. No knife, no fancy cut, just a chunk of skin and meat. He chewed and swallowed, choosing to ignore the confusion directed at him. After a drink of water, he nodded, and spoke slowly. 

“If you let us go, I will break my promise to you.”

Will let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Margot and Alana were understandably suspicious. 

“What if we decide to turn you in? If we called Jack right now, what would happen?” 

It was Will’s turn to surprise Alana. 

“Then we’ll find a way to kill you.” 

She whipped her head around. Will didn’t look particularly threatening, but the way he held himself was enough for her to know he was serious. Hannibal smiled from the other end of the table. They all knew he was capable of it, too. If Hannibal could send the Red Dragon after Molly and Walter by himself, the two of them working together would ensure their demise. The idea of killing Hannibal became appealing once again. 

“The same thing goes if you kill Hannibal,” Will chimed, casually reading Alana’s mind. “Please, Alana,” he whispered. 

“We could easily just kill you both,” Margot snapped while she wiped her eyes, mascara decorating her palms and cheeks. Alana touched her shoulder and shook her head lightly. Despite everything, Alana could never kill Will, and she knew Will wouldn’t kill her. The two of them had to be prompted. They both have their significant other wrapped around their finger, though, so as long as that nostalgic fondness existed between Alana and Will, nobody had to die. Her cold posture melted just slightly.

Alana sighed, and stood up from the table. She nodded to Margot, who once again brandished the handgun and aimed it at the two men. Hannibal and Will only looked to each other, unphased by the development. They knew what this meant. Alana reached into her pocket and took out a small key and, to Will’s surprise, an ornate switchblade. He tossed her a confused smirk as she knelt to undo his restraints.

“It was a gift from Margot,” Alana huffed.

“You were hinting at it! I swear I saw you eyeing it at that antique shop,” Margot retorted, though her features were softened with admiration. Will, with traces of envy, entertained the idea of Margot and Alana leisurely strolling along the snow-kissed storefronts, spirits lit by a holiday glow. It was a pleasant image. 

“It’s better than a corpse folded into a heart,” Will snorted. He offered Hannibal a sideways glance. Hannibal completed the circle and met Margot’s eyes, and he shrugged, as if to say:  _ can’t win ‘em all.  _

Wills handcuffs became loose and fell from his wrists. He flexed them, and smiled sadly at Alana. The reality of the situation dawned on the room's atmosphere once again. “We took your knives and gun. The keys for Hannibal’s cuffs are on top of the fridge,” Margot exclaimed, gun following Will as he shakily rose from his seat. 

“Thank you, Alana,” Will said. Margot and Alana watched as he hurried over to Hannibal, who met him with a melancholic smirk. 

“I think that ‘conversation’ went quite well. Don’t you?” 

Will responded by leaning down and kissing him softly, hand resting on his shoulder. It wasn’t necessarily forgiveness, but it was something. Hannibal welcomed the kiss and leaned into his touch. Then Will retrieved the key, and graciously waited for the women to leave before unlocking Hannibal's cuffs. It was nearly comedic to see the scene play out, as if this was just a normal Saturday night save for a few hiccups. 

Alana would never understand them. She doesn’t think anyone was meant to.

“This was definitely one of the worst double dates I’ve ever been on,” Margot joked from over Alana’s shoulder, gun still pointed at Will and Hannibal, who responded with exasperated looks. Alana couldn’t help but chuckle at that. She walked backwards towards Margot. The pair were moments away from taking their leave, when Alana suddenly remembered a question that floated around in her mind since it happened.

“Hannibal, why did you take a bite of the turkey?”

“Alana,” he began as Will unlocked the cuffs on both his hands and feet, “if one or all of us were to die, I’d at least think it respectful to try what could have been my last supper.” His voice strained as he leaned back and stretched, nonchalantly shaking out any discomfort. He touched the small of Will’s back, urging him lightly to turn towards the other exit. Alana gripped her switchblade and Margot’s hold on the handgun steadied. “How was it?” Alana asked. 

“Dry,” he replied curtly. 

Alana scoffed. 

“But you have many years to correct it.”

Both Margot and Alana relaxed, hearing the confirmation for their now-former assailant himself. They all stood there for an agonizing moment. Margot opened the door behind them, which indubitably led to a convenient escape. 

“I wish I could say it was nice to see you, Will. Just…” Alana leaned into Margot, hand around her waist, steadying herself. Margot held her purposefully. “Take care of each other, alright?” 

Will returned her sentimental expression. He leaned back into Hannibal’s hand. Hannibal rubbed his thumb up and down his spine. 

“You too.”

Two doors slammed, and they would never open again. 

**Author's Note:**

> hello everypony. once again i cant write for shit and i suck at consistent povs but here it is -___- some post fall drabble.


End file.
